


Hugging Would Be Nice

by fanatic_by_definition



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Clothes Sharing, Fluff, M/M, People's Choice Awards 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanatic_by_definition/pseuds/fanatic_by_definition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So at the PCAs, Pete was wearing this leather jacket...</p><p>Then like an hour later, Patrick was wearing it onstage...and kept it on afterwards...</p><p>Curious...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hugging Would Be Nice

**Author's Note:**

> cuteness of that magnitude demanded fic, so i complied. just a quick lil thing. hope you like :)

Patrick is nervous.

Which, of course, surprises everyone (not really).

Especially Pete (not even a little).

The singer had been all smiles on the red carpet, posing for selfies with fans and striking his model poses for the paps, but now that they’re backstage and about to perform in front of a room full of Oscar-winning actors and Grammy-winning musicians, he’s doing his trademark “can’t-do-this-can’t-do-this” pacing. Andy and Joe are exchanging concerned glances as they watch him wear a rut in the floor, and naturally, their gazes soon flit to Pete, the new significant other in Patrick’s life.

Well, technically, he’s always been Patrick’s “significant other,” it’s just that now the title comes with kissing and… _other things_ that Pete really shouldn’t think about too much while he’s wearing pants this tight. The romantic relationship that has (finally) budded between them has strengthened their bond even further, which had seemed impossible at first but had soon been accomplished. All this of course means he’s the best candidate to bring Patrick out of this funk. Accepting his duty with a nod, Pete slings his bass behind his back and walks over to his best friend.

 “’Trick?” the bassist says, and Patrick stops in his tracks to look at him.

“Hm?” he replies, fiddling with the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“You okay, man?” Pete asks, resting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Haven’t seen you this wound up before a show in a while.” Usually Patrick’s a ball of excited energy before performances, bouncing on his toes with anticipation. Tonight, he hadn’t even done his show tune warm-ups.

Patrick blinks up at Pete, then drops his gaze back to the floor. His arms come up to wrap around himself insecurely. “Just a little nervous,” he says in a small voice.

“Why? We’ve performed ‘Centuries’ plenty of times; it’ll be great.” Pete lets his hand run from Patrick’s shoulder down his arm in a slow, comforting caress; he’s still marveling at the freedom he now has to touch his best friend like this. “If you’re worried about forgetting the words or something, I’ll mouth ‘em to you like I always do, don’t worry.”

“’S not that.” Patrick almost imperceptibly presses into Pete’s touch and loosens his arms to let the older man tangle their hands together. “It’s just…the audience.”

Pete is still somewhat confused. “We’ve played for celebs before,” he points out. “They’re just people, man.”

“Yeah, but I…they…” Patrick takes a deep breath, meeting Pete’s eyes again. From the look on his face, the singer is about to launch into a long explanation of his anxiety, and Pete reassures him with a nod that he’ll listen.

“Everyone in that room has won some award at some point in their lives, and they’ve deserved it, because they’re all so fucking talented, and the bands out there are all nominated for more tonight, and any of them could’ve been picked to perform, but they chose _us_ , Grammy nominees from like seven years ago, and I’m wearing this shitty shirt that’s old and baggy and kinda makes me look, uh…y’know…a-and everyone out there is wearing fuckin’ tuxes and dresses and they’re all fuckin’ _gorgeous_ , and you…you look amazing, as always, and Joe and Andy look like rock stars, and then there’s _me_ , and I didn’t even have time to warm up properly, so my voice might crack in front of people like _Liam fucking Neeson_ and…and…”

Patrick finishes with a helpless sigh and his shoulders droop. Tonight, right now, he looks and sounds more like that nervous kid Pete met in Glenview than he has in years, and it hurts Pete’s heart a little.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and lets go of Patrick’s hand to tilt his chin up a little. A small smile alights on the bassist’s lips. “First of all, I thought I told you to stop with the whole ‘everyone’s-prettier-than-me’ thing. You look stunning; there’s nothing wrong with that shirt except for the distracting way it highlights the blue in your eyes.” At Patrick’s faint blush, Pete continues. “Secondly, I don’t care if we haven’t won as many awards as the bands out there—what are they, anyway? Just little statues that sit and gather dust on shelves for a few decades before they’re auctioned off on the Internet. You’ve got more talent in your little finger than anyone else in this room has in their whole body, awards or not.”

Patrick scoffs at this, but he’s looking at Pete in this certain way that makes Pete feel like the most loved man in the universe. “I doubt that,” the shorter man says, but a smile is quirking the corners of his mouth ever-so-slightly.

“Don’t you dare.” Pete scans the area around them to check for stagehands, paps, and camera crews. When the only people he sees in their vicinity are Joe and Andy, he leans in and brushes a quick kiss against Patrick’s lips. It’s a risk, yes, but sometimes physical affection is the most effective reassurance once can give.

Patrick splutters and blushes profusely when Pete pulls away. “No kissing in public yet, asshole!” he whispers harshly, but he’s grinning.

“Couldn’t resist,” Pete says, a hopeful flare igniting in his chest at the word "yet". Then they’re hugging, Patrick’s arms around Pete’s neck and Pete’s around Patrick’s middle, and Pete wishes he could stay like this for hours.

Instead, they embrace for several long seconds, forgetting everyone and everything else around them in favor of soaking up the other’s presence. Patrick sighs against the skin of Pete’s neck. “If you could hug me like this onstage,” he says quietly, “I’d be a helluva lot less nervous.”

Pete feels his entire body start to tingle pleasantly at those words. He’s so fucking lucky to have this, it’s almost unfair. “You want me to hang all over you like I used to?” he asks, smirking at the prospect. “’Cuz I could.”

“Fuck no,” Patrick says on a laugh. “Not sure I could handle you kissing my neck without being able to do anything about it.”

“What, you mean it’d make you pitch a tent for me onstage, in front of an audience of celebrities and millions of innocent at-home viewers? ‘Tricky, I’m flattered. And also a little tempted.”

“Shut up. You better not.” Patrick pulls away and glares at his best friend good-naturedly. “Hugging would be nice, though.”

“Yeah?” Pete looks at him, watches him tugging on the sleeves of his suit jacket again. An idea suddenly pops into his head. “Wait a sec…” He casts his gaze around and finds what he needs on a nearby folding chair—the leather jacket he’d been wearing earlier, before he’d changed into his stage clothes. He goes over and plucks it from the chair, then brings it back to Patrick, holding it up almost proudly. “What if you wear this?”

Eyeing the jacket suspiciously, Patrick replies, “There’s hundreds of pictures of you in that jacket from the red carpet. If people see me in it, they’ll notice. Questions may arise.”

“Just say it’s your stage clothes, and we happen to have the same jacket,” Pete says rationally. He thrusts the item of clothing towards Patrick. “C’mon, put it on. It won’t be as satisfying as a hug, but in a way, I’ll still be holding you.”

That earns Pete a positively adoring look from his boyfriend, and he all but beams. Patrick smiles like a spotlight and shucks his own jacket, then takes the leather one from Pete’s hands and slips it on. It fits him. He looks down at it appraisingly, bringing the collar up to his nose to smell it. “This could work,” he finally says. “Still smells like your cologne.”

“Feel better?” Pete asks, genuinely curious, but he can’t help but run his eyes up and down Patrick’s torso. The sight of the singer in his clothes is one he will never tire of.

Patrick nods. “Yeah, actually. Thanks, Pete.”

Pete laughs, pointing at him. “You said it! You said the thing!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—” Patrick rolls his eyes exasperatedly and punches Pete in the shoulder. “I said it ‘cuz I meant it, shithead!”

“I know, I know. You’re welcome.” In a more subtle move, Pete grasps one of Patrick’s hands again and brings it to his mouth briefly to kiss the pale knuckles. “C’mon, let’s go rock this.”

And rock it they do. Patrick’s voice quavers a little at the beginning of the song, but as the four of them really get into it, he gets more and more confident, moving around the stage and hitting low notes he doesn’t reach for very often at live shows. The performance goes off without a hitch, and when it’s over movie stars cheer for them, which is a pretty awesome feeling. Patrick leaves the jacket on for the rest of the night.

Sure enough, when Pete’s lurking on Tumblr later that night on the king-sized bed in his and Patrick’s hotel room, he finds a few excited posts about the clothing swap, but he doesn’t mind all that much. It was worth the gorgeous smile and the grateful kiss he’d been given in their dressing room after the show.

As he studies a picture of the four of them taken as they’d been leaving the venue, Pete decides the jacket looks better on Patrick than it ever did on him—it accents his shoulders and chest in a rather mouthwatering way. He thinks he’ll let Patrick keep it.

Suddenly a voice sounds from the bathroom, snapping Pete out of his thoughts: “You’re not about to let me shower by myself, are you, Wentz?”

Pete's never leapt off a bed so fast in his life. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”

###


End file.
